strings

I woke up this morning remembering first grade. It was one particular day where each student in every class at Bowers elementary school was given a small sheet of paper to write down our name and school address on one side, and a small message of some sort on the other. That part I don’t recall, maybe I just scribbled down a modest “Hello! I hope you find me!”or something similar in my usual reserve in profundity and word choices. We then attached these papers to the ends of strings with the other end attached to helium-filled gold-colored balloons. After the balloons and papers were prepared, all the teachers and students congregated outside at the playground to prepare for the Great Launch. The principal instructed us in a countdown of 10 to 1, where at 1, we’d all open our hands and let go of our balloons. Of course, one or two mislaunches drifted on by while the principal was speaking, but once it got down to 3 …2 … 1 obscured by whoops of unadulterated excitement, we unleashed our strings en mass and watched as our bunched together balloons floated effortlessly into the sky, slowly separating with changes of the wind, carrying with them hopes and possibilities of correspondence with all manner of far away places. I stared until every last balloon completely vanished from sight.

I remember too I had eaten a cherry and had been tossing the seed around in my mouth with my tongue. In the excitement of the launch, of course, the little ball ended up rolling down my throat, and I spent the rest of that day thinking about trees growing in stomachs and whether or not my balloon might make it all the way to the other side of the world. Maybe somewhere in Europe. Or Istanbul. I wondered if they could read English there.

About two or three weeks later, we heard through the PA that two lucky students had gotten their addressed papers sent back to them. Both from people residing somewhere in California, though parts of the Bay outside of Santa Clara. This was quite thrilling though neither was mine, but all the same, I wasn’t expecting my Turkish recipient to know what to do with my personal message to him anyway.

The next year, it was decided that launching balloons was a bad idea because of the likelihood that the rubber remains would end up inside of sea birds, so that was the only time that I got to make an attempt. Maybe it was enough.

strands

For those who’ve been insisting on it (yes you, Kim), and also for those who haven’t, I finally cut my hair again. Before and after:

It’s a nice familiar sensation.. the nonhair.